


Meddling

by sunryder



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, BAMF Bilbo, M/M, Thorin is a Softie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:06:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunryder/pseuds/sunryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo should have known better than to sass a Wizard.</p><p>Because the next afternoon, Gandalf the Grey, the Fire Rider, the sneaky bastard, turned up at Bilbo’s gym with a bundle of Dwarves trailing along behind him.  </p><p>Bilbo Baggins did not scream at Gandalf, because grown Hobbits did not scream at anybody, let alone at a Wizard. But oh, how Bilbo wanted to. Because Bilbo knew full well that between the bulky fellow with the mohawk and the one with the split beard, was Thorin Oakenshield, the Erebor gym leader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meddling

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you--like me--who have trouble keeping track of all the different kinds of pokemon, the first time a pokemon is mentioned in the story it's name is a link to the pokemon's picture on Bulbapedia.

Bilbo knew that most of the common people in Middle-Earth didn’t take his pokemon gym seriously. They heard ‘Hobbiton’ and thought that one word told them everything they needed to know. Hobbits were more known for their dislike of violence in all its forms than they were known for producing talented trainers, which meant that more than one brash young trainer had turned up at Bilbo’s gym thinking that the Garden Badge would be easy to earn. They’d simply steam over the little Hobbit who thought he was tough enough to be a gym leader and be on their merry way.

 

Bilbo knew the general impression wasn’t helped much by the Hobbiton Gym not actually having four walls. Or any walls at all really.

 

The Garden ‘Gym’ was a fenced-off stretch of field beside the pond and below the party tree. It was perfectly visible to everyone out at about at the market, or on their way to Green Dragon. The Hobbits would stop their ambling way past and cheer in proportion to how friendly the trainers had been with the locals. Needless to say, the young ones who scoffed at Bilbo and his open air gym weren’t given very enthusiastic cheers.

 

Bilbo did his best not to wallop the children too badly. There was a difference between defeating a trainer in a way that was still a teaching experience, and defeating them in a way that was a humiliation. That Bilbo knew the difference between the two was why he’d been chosen as the youngest ever leader of the Hobbiton Gym. The young trainers who came thinking Bilbo would be easy to defeat would lose handily, and they’d learn that despite Bilbo’s gym, and his size, and the cuteness of his pokemon, he was still formidable.

 

Outside of the time Bilbo spent instilling humility in all the younglings who hadn’t done their research, at least once a month he dealt with a trainer who appreciated that Bilbo and his fluffy pokemon were not to be trifled with.

 

For those trainers, Hobbiton would throw a party. There’d be food, and beer, and bunting, while the whole village came out for a good show. By the end of the battle even those who’d lost would walk away feeling like they’d been celebrated for trying rather than defeated.

 

Of course, there were times when Bilbo wished he and his gym had a far less amiable reputation. Because if Bilbo had been known to be a bit rougher, there wouldn’t be a Wizard in his garden, tickling Bilbo’s favorite [Swablu](http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:333Swablu.png) under the chin.  

 

The birds were plump balls of blue feathers, with puffy white wings that most people compared to clouds. They liked to congregate in the tree above Bilbo’s home, the cloud of them floating down to pester whoever spent too long before Bilbo’s front gate. Most Hobbits would drop by to collect Swablu feathers and use them to scrub the worst of stains, but the birds would rub against Lobelia and her ilk so they’d have white fluff stuck to their fancy fabric for days. However, despite their sense when dealing with certain Hobbits, the Swablu seemed to have no sense when it came to Gandalf.

 

Bilbo kept his basket of groceries tucked against his side, a silent excuse to slip in to the house when the Wizard got unbearable. “What are you doing here, Gandalf?”

 

“Can’t I just come by to visit an old friend?” Gandalf gave him a soft smile, surrounded by the fluffy creatures who barely had enough brains between them to survive without the rest of their cloud. Had Bilbo not been subjected to that same perfect picture of innocence half a dozen times before, he might have actually believed that the Wizard wanted nothing more than a cup of tea and to know everything that Bilbo had been up to since their last chat.

 

“Other people maybe. But you aren’t one of them.”

 

“Come now, Bilbo—” Bilbo didn’t even bother letting the Wizard get out the argument he was using this time. Bilbo had made the mistake of letting Gandalf in the first few times, thinking that perhaps he might actually _listen_ when Bilbo said he had no desire to join the Elite Four. And no, Bilbo didn’t care that the Elite Four were supposed to be the best pokemon trainers in all of Middle-earth and the fourth seat of their little band was only being occupied by Saruman because no one who managed to beat him actually had the gumption to permanently take his place. (Considering that taking that place would result in dealing with Saurman’s temper, Bilbo couldn’t blame them. And he didn’t want the fool who actually tried to unseat Saruman to be _him_ , no matter what Gandalf kept arguing.)

 

The stubborn little Swablu burrowed in to the folds of Gandalf’s cloak when the Wizard tried to give chase, which was exactly what Gandalf deserved for using the poor pokemon to manipulate Bilbo. “You can’t stay in the Shire forever, Bilbo! You’re too talented to get away with not challenging the Four!”

 

“Just watch me!” Bilbo shouted over his shoulder.

 

And really, Bilbo should have known better than to sass a Wizard.

 

Because the next afternoon, Gandalf the Grey, the Fire Rider, the sneaky bastard, turned up at Bilbo’s gym with a bundle of Dwarves trailing along behind him.  

 

Bilbo Baggins did not scream at Gandalf, because grown Hobbits did not scream at anybody, let alone at a Wizard. But oh, how Bilbo wanted to.

 

If Gandalf had appeared with a random assortment of Dwarves Bilbo wouldn’t have been quite so irked. Perhaps they might have just been travelers, or they might have been a trainers Gandalf thought could beat him, or they might have been there for some emotionally manipulative end that Bilbo’s own nature couldn’t even imagine—one never really knew with Gandalf. But one did not remain a gym leader without paying attention to the trainer community. So while the vast majority of the Dwarves were folk that Bilbo wouldn’t be able to tell from Aule, Bilbo knew full well that between the bulky fellow with the mohawk and the one with the split beard, was Thorin Oakenshield, the Erebor gym leader.

 

Bilbo would’ve been thrilled to chat with a fellow gym leader, provided that that gym leader wasn’t Thorin Oakenshield.

 

You see, none of the other gym leaders running around Middle-earth were ones that Bilbo’s mother had taken him to the Elite Four at the Grey Havens to see compete. None of them were the one Bilbo had bought a pennant for the year they had won the Middle-earth pokemon championship, and certainly none of them were the one that Bilbo had nursed a crush on through his whole youth, and had been the one trainer Bilbo had declared his favorite all throughout his whole pokemon journey through Middle-earth to gain his master status.

 

(And _no_ , Bilbo had not gone all the way to Erebor to battle Thorin to earn the Mountain Badge. Bilbo had thought about it—and by thought, Bilbo meant that he’d made it all the way to Dale before he talked himself out of it. Young Bilbo couldn’t stand the thought of meeting his idol and having the Dwarf find him insufficient, or that perhaps Thorin wouldn’t live up to Bilbo’s expectations.)

 

So yes, any leader other than Thorin Oakenshield would’ve been a joy to have turn up at his gym, but Oakenshield, not so much.

 

And since Gandalf had spent far too many a dinner at the Baggins’s supper table teasing Bilbo about his childhood crush, not even Bilbo’s more trusting nature was able to write this off as an accident.

 

Bilbo was a grown Hobbit, and grown Hobbits did not stare at Dwarf Lords as they strode up to the wooden fence demarcating their gym and kick their leg over the rail like they was accustomed to getting their leg over things.

 

And grown Hobbits absolutely did not blush when they caught themselves actually having that thought.

 

Bilbo’s [Meloetta](http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:648Meloetta.png) had spent the morning hovering in the field, the spindly bundle of lines and notes idly singing to the flowers growing along the battleground’s edges. Only now, she floated up beside him and sang a few bars, deep and throaty with the embarrassing lust she could feel coming off Bilbo. “Oh, shush you,” he hissed.

 

“Bilbo, my boy!” Gandalf boomed, stepping right over the fence line like he wasn’t in peril of his life.

 

“No, Gandalf. I don’t care what argument you think you can make this time, I’m not doing it.”

 

“Argument my dear boy? Why would we need to have an argument?” Gandalf just cocked an eyebrow, his face a mask of innocent confusion that Bilbo couldn’t call him on. Because if Bilbo wanted to bring up that he had made a habit out of refusing Gandalf’s offers to join the Elite Four—a club to which Thorin Oakenshield definitely belonged but was never invited because of the anti-Dwarf prejudice of some of the founding members—things would not go well. Bilbo couldn’t imagine how the Dwarf would take finding out that _he_ was excluded from the Elite Four while a Hobbit was being courted for it.

 

Bilbo rolled his eyes but laid off the questioning. Gandalf had won that round, and despite Bilbo’s irritation, there was no way for him to properly call Gandalf on his manipulations without insulting the Dwarves who were staring at the two of them like they were madmen. Gandalf smirked, knowing exactly what was going on in Bilbo’s head. “My dear boy, allow me to introduce Thorin Oakenshield, leader of the Mountain Gym in Erebor.”

 

Bilbo stumbled to his feet and tried not flush like the child he wasn’t any longer. That was rather difficult to do, but Bilbo put forth the effort anyway. His Baggins pride demanded it. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Oakenshield.” Bilbo would’ve liked to say that the Dwarf had a firm handshake, but he barely glanced against Bilbo’s hand before he pulled back like he couldn’t stand the thought of touching him.

 

And well, it seemed that Thorin got significantly less attractive when he turned out to be one of those snobs who thought a Hobbit was beneath them. Bilbo put away the giddy smile that had been teasing at the edges of his mouth. He pulled out the expression he used on those young trainers who had the same disdain for Bilbo that it seemed Oakenshield had. (No, Bilbo wasn’t going to blush and stammer his way through Oakenshield’s disdain. Young he might be, and ridiculously handsome with his stony features and flecks of silver at his temples Oakenshield might be, but Bilbo was grown. He had proven himself to the trainer community and he didn’t care what Oakenshield thought of him. Bilbo would eat a pie later—probably a whole one—while he grumbled to his books about how unfair life was, but right now, with Oakenshield expressionless in front of him, Bilbo wouldn’t flinch.)

 

“What brings you and your companions to the Shire?”

 

There was a long pause as everyone waited for Oakenshield to do the polite thing and answer the question. But of course, he didn’t. Instead the Dwarf with the forked beard came up beside Oakenshield, not so subtly elbowing him in the ribs before he answered for his prince. “Balin, son of Fundin, at your service Mr. Baggins. The Elite Four summoned Thorin to their establishment in the Grey Havens, and my companions and I decided to accompany him on his journey. We met with Gandalf at Bree, and he suggested that we ought to spend a few days partaking of the hospitality of the Shire before we pressed on.”

 

Bilbo was _sure_ Gandalf did, the meddling old Wizard. Endeavoring to be the polite Hobbit that his father had taught him to be, Bilbo turned back to Thorin. “Summoned by the Elite Four? That’s very prestigious.”

 

Oakenshield snorted. “It was prestigious the first time. Now its just annoying.”

 

Bilbo supposed that if he’d been strung along by the Elite Four as long as Thorin had, he would be irritated too. But that was no excuse for bad manners. Saruman deserved all the scorn that the whole of Middle-Earth could summon, but Galadriel, Beorn, and Gilraen were all lovely people who deserved their spots on the Elite Four. To scorn the group as a whole was to scorn them as well, and Bilbo didn’t appreciate that. He tried his best for a polite smile, but he was certain it came out more uncomfortable that anything. Bilbo didn’t think it was possible for Oakenshield’s face to get more closed down, but there it went. “I suppose it must be tiresome to make the journey.”

 

“Tiresome doesn’t begin to cover it, laddie.” The mohawked Dwarf tossed his arm around Thorin’s shoulder, an obvious show of support for Thorin’s opinion of the Four.

 

“Yes, well. If you’d like to follow me,” Bilbo gestured back down the pathway they’d come to get to his gym in the first place. “I’m sure my fellow Hobbits will be delighted to have your company. Lunch should be about ready at The Green Dragon, or there are several delightful things for eating at the market if you’d rather get to know some of the locals.”

 

Bilbo made it about three steps before he realized none of the Dwarves were following him, and really, these Dwarves were practically Tooks with how poorly they concealed things. Balin was a bit better than the others, but even he was giving Oakenshield the side eye, like he expected Oakenshield to actually step forward and make conversation. Mohawk looked like this had gone exactly as he expected, and he was amused by it. Two other Dwarves rounded out their group, a friendly looking one with golden hair and Oakenshield’s nose, who was giving Bilbo a commiserating grin, and another lad whose soft features and knitted mittens said he couldn’t have been much past his majority.

 

The lad stumbled past the unmoving Dwarves, seemingly unaware that the others were using their silence to try and goad Oakenshield in to at least pretending to be polite. The boy had a notebook in his hands. The pages themselves contained row after row of neat observations, while the boy’s fingers were stained with ink and dirt. “Mr. Baggins—”

 

“Bilbo, my dear boy. Call me Bilbo.” It obviously hadn’t escaped the notice of the rest of the Dwarves that Bilbo had offered his name to the boy and not to any of them.

 

Judging by the way the boy pinked, he’d noticed as well. “My name is Ori, son of Lori, Mr. Bilbo. I’m a pokemon researcher, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”

 

“Of course.” Bilbo went to waive the lad down the path, uncaring if the rest of the Dwarves followed them. But it seemed the lad was more excited to ask questions than he was to get some food.

 

“Is that the Meloetta that you used in your own battle against the Elite Four?” The Meloetta in question was hovering beside Gandalf. The two of them were humming at one another, constructing some strange song that always made Gandalf smile and that the Meloetta would never sing for anyone else.

 

Bilbo replied in the affirmative, and the boy asked if that was the only Pokemon Bilbo had that he didn’t keep in a pokeball. “I don’t keep _any_ of my pokemon in balls, Mr. Ori. It’s not a practice that most Hobbits use, and those that do usually have a good reason. If the winter is particularly harsh and a Hobbit’s hole is particularly small they might use a pokeball to shelter their pokemon at night, but not during a warm summer day when the pokemon can be out and about enjoying the sunshine.”

 

“What about large pokemon? Or dangerous ones?”

 

“We don’t have many large pokemon roaming around this part of the world, Mr. Ori. My grandfather, the Old Took, had a [Gyrados](http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:130Gyarados.png), but that lived in the Brandywine river. As for dangerous, if a pokemon is too dangerous to be around regular folk, that’s the fault of the trainer, not the fault of the pokemon. It might be kept part time in a ball until a new trainer can help the pokemon adjust to society, but it isn’t kept there on a permanent basis.”

 

“Aren’t you worried about theft?’

 

Bilbo startled. The thought of someone stealing his pokemon had honestly never once crossed his mind. “If someone takes my pokemon they’ll come right back to me. Their family and their friends are here, they’ll refuse to battle for whoever took them and they’ll come right back the first chance they’re able. My pokemon might choose to fight for a new trainer, but that’s not theft, that’s their own choice.”

 

“Well then,” the mohawked fellow interrupted. “If we’re going to be spending some time in the Shire we ought to adhere to their customs.” Every last Dwarf and Gandalf turned to Mohawk and stared the moment the words left his mouth. Like they couldn’t believe _he_ was the one advocating cultural sensitivity. Bilbo didn’t even know the fellow’s name and he was certain it was a shift in character. Judging by the way Oakenshield glowered at the fellow like he was one breath away from punching him square in the nose, Bilbo was fairly certain that the whole thing was designed to irritate Oakenshield.

 

“Dwalin,” Oakenshield seethed, but the Dwarf had already flicked loose the three pokeballs he had on the bandoleer draped across his chest.

 

Bilbo knew that Dwarves preferred rock-type Pokemon. He couldn’t understand when his fellow Hobbits were surprised by the idea since Dwarves lived underground. The grass, water, bug, and flying types that were native to the Shire and that Hobbits tended to prefer wouldn’t have lasted long in the cold dark of Dwarven mountains. In case common sense couldn’t have told Bilbo about Dwarven preferences, Bilbo’s pokemon journey had taken him to the Blue Mountains and the small but formidable gym that the Dwarves had there. Rock-type had been the main preference, but he’d seen more than a few dark, steel, and ground-type pokemon under the mountain.

 

However, _knowing_ that Dwarves preferred rock-types and _seeing_ one of them pop out of a pokeball in the heart of his beloved green Shire was a different matter.

 

Dwalin’s [Onix](http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:095Onix.png) claimed Bilbo’s attention first—it would have been almost impossible for it not to. The creature was long and thin like a snake, but its skin appeared to be a chain of boulders rather than flesh. More importantly, the Onix was over 30 feet long, and it reared up behind Dwalin like it could reach up and blot out the sun. His other two pokemon were fearsome to behold, but a little less than terrifying when compared to the massive rock snake. (He had a [Kabutops](http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:141Kabutops.png), a creature with scythe blades for hands that matched the hammers strapped to Dwalin’s back, and a [Rampardos](http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:409Rampardos.png) with a rounded skull perfect for head butting.)

 

The other dwarves followed his lead, Balin with his posh [Empoleon](http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:395Empoleon.png), Golden-hair with his [Pawniard](http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:624Pawniard.png) and [Riolu](http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:447Riolu.png) that would someday be fearsome fighters, and little Ori with his [Carbink](http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:703Carbink.png). (Dwalin’s Rampardos, however, went straight to Ori, like the bunny-like Carbink wasn’t enough to protect the boy. Bilbo smirked at him and the fierce warrior glowered through his blush.)

 

Golden-hair nudged Oakenshield with good-natured teasing that Bilbo didn’t buy for a second. “Come on, Thorin. Dwalin’s right. It’s only polite that we do our best to respect the local customs.”

 

Oakenshield grumbled, “Don’t be stupid—” and Bilbo saw red.

 

“Excuse me! There’s nothing stupid about the way my people raise raise pokemon! Just because we Hobbits don’t like the thought of out valuable friends and companions being trapped in a _cage_ for most of their lives doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with us! Honestly, of all people you should know better than to judge another trainer for how they choose—” and Oakenshield flicked loose the pokeballs he had tucked away beneath the breast of his cloak.

 

Under other circumstances Bilbo might have paid attention to the panicked look Oakenshield had in his eyes, or how Golden-hair was red from trying not to laugh. But well… given the reputation of Dwarves, and the reputation of Oakenshield in particular, Bilbo could understand why the fellow might be hesitant to let his pokemon go wandering around in the public eye.

 

Oakenshield’s first pokemon was a [Mega Aggron](http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:306Aggron-Mega.png) that likely could have bulldozed its way through the whole Shire and gone on to do the same to the Blue Mountains without breaking a sweat. The Aggron was taller than the Rangers who roamed through Hobbiton, and would’ve been taller still if he hadn’t been hunched over from the weight of the metal plating that ridged down his back. Everything on the creature was covered in the steel sheets, from the helmet atop his head, all the way down the rings encompassing his tail. The pockmarks and scars lining the Aggron’s armor were signs of how fiercely it had battled through its life, and the old stories said that Aggrons were so territorial that no more than one could bear to dwell in the same mountain. That meant this was the fierce Mega Aggron of Erebor, the prize pokemon of Thorin Oakenshield.

 

And atop its head was possibly the smallest [Charmander](http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:Ash_Charmander.png) that Bilbo had ever seen.

 

The tiny red dragon curled up on the flat plane of Aggron’s head, with its stubby tail clinging to one of Aggron’s horns. The Aggron’s nose ridge ran up its forehead, jutting up several inches off its head into the largest, central horn, which the Charmander peered around to see what was going on. The little thing gave a squeak of hello before it slipped off the Aggron’s head and plummeted that massive height down to the ground.

 

Bilbo darted forward to catch the Charmander before it smashed, but Aggron caught it in one paw that spanned the length of Charmander’s whole body, and set in gently to the ground. Charmander took several hobbling steps towards Thorin, but the grass beneath its feet was too strange a sensation and it started to keen at being separated from its trainer. Thorin scooped up the Charmander and shushed the little thing, and if that wasn’t the most adorable thing Bilbo had ever seen, his name wasn’t Baggins. (And Bilbo said that fully aware that he had spent his entire life surrounded by baby Hobbits.)

 

Bilbo bit his lip and absolutely did. not. coo at the sight of the gruff, unsmiling Dwarf cradling a Charmander like it was the most precious things in the world.

 

Only, based on Oakenshield’s thunderous expression, Bilbo may have failed at keeping his coo to himself.

 

A few minutes ago Bilbo would have said that the Dwarf had been glowering at him, but really, with a baby dragon in his arms the expression couldn’t be called anything by a pout. Which was an opinion that seemed to translate perfectly well despite Bilbo’s attempt to keep it to himself. Rather than dump the Charmander to the ground in a sharp denial of all those dirty traces of sentimentality, Oakenshield hugged the Charmander a little tighter and went stomping off towards the road. The whole thing was strongly reminiscent of the last time Bilbo had told Pippin Took that he really ought to share his toys.

 

Dwalin and Gandalf were snickering at Thorin as he stormed away, which was all Bilbo needed to tell him that he really ought to feel bad about whatever misinterpretation had led Oakenshield to think that him being adorable was something to feel bad about. (Ori’s hurt eyes were enough to make Bilbo feel about a foot tall.)

 

“Mr. Oakenshield!” Bilbo shouted, dashing after the Dwarf before he got too far away. But before Bilbo had the chance to actually get in grabbing range of the Dwarf, the Aggron got in the way. And if at all possible, the Aggron was even more intimidating when it loomed over him like Bilbo was a pebble to be crushed under its foot.

 

Bilbo might have actually been nervous about the massive, metal creature roaring at him for hurting its trainer… at least, he would’ve been if he wasn’t in the middle of his gym. And no one, Man, Hobbit, Wizard, Dwarf, or Pokemon, threatened Bilbo Baggins in the middle of his own field of battle.

 

People who carried their pokemon around in balls had a habit of not paying attention to the pokemon roaming around them unless they were looking for something to capture. Which meant that the roaring Aggron and the Dwarves watching weren’t quite expecting Bilbo’s [Togepi](http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:175Togepi.png) to pop out of the tall grass and hop in to Bilbo’s arms. The Togepi was an egg about the size of a loaf of bread, with floppy feet and arms so tiny they were useless for anything other than dramatic flailing. The little fellow was about as useless in battle as he appeared to be, which was to say, very.

 

However, much like Bilbo, appearances were deceiving.

 

The Aggron reared up on its toes, billowing a roar down at Bilbo. Out of the corner of his eye Bilbo could see Balin sending over his Empoleon like its attack might do any good to protect him. He could see Oakenshield sprinting forward, shouting at the Aggron to stand down. And he could see Gandalf’s little smirk in the heartbeat before Togepi closed its eyes and with a squeak of a shout put up a nigh impenetrable shield.

 

No, Bilbo’s Togepi wasn’t much for fighting, but it was spectacular at defending the things it loved.

 

Togepi’s shield slammed in Oakenshield’s Aggron with all the force of a hammer to an anvil, sending the other pokemon staggering back. The Aggron was furious, and it lunged to batter its way through the shield like sheer strength of will would be enough to tear its way through Togepi’s defenses. And in the Aggron’s defense, if he went for long enough he might actually be able to overpower Bilbo’s Togepi, though the heavy creature would probably collapse from exhaustion before Togepi’s shield’s fell. (Togepi’s affection for Bilbo would outlast the Aggron’s desire to make Bilbo pay.)

 

But before the massive creature got the chance to try again, Oakenshield put himself between Bilbo and his own pokemon, hands raised to warn him off. The little Charmander clung to the back of Oakenshield’s cloak, unwilling to be left behind, but Oakenshield was at least trying to protect him.

 

“Aggron, stop!” Oakenshield shouted. The Charmander squeaked out a questioning noise, obviously wanting to know what had possessed its favorite pokemon to lose its temper so spectacularly. The Aggron rumbled out a deep noise that Bilbo could feel all the way down to his bones, and he didn’t need much experience with this particular pokemon to know that the Aggron was grumbling about how horrible Bilbo was and that he deserved whatever the Aggron did to him. The sweet little Charmander twisted around to stare at Bilbo, like he wasn’t quite sure how this tiny trainer could be hurting their Thorin, but he trusted Aggron above all. Oakenshield reached around and ran a soothing hand down the Charmander’s back. “It’s alright, Aggron. We’re fine.” Oakenshield stepped straight in to the Aggron’s bulk, like he wasn’t a great, hulking beast huffing through its snout like he was a beat away from storming right over the top of Oakenshield to get to Bilbo.

 

Oakenshield ran soft fingers along the Aggron’s center horn, soothing him. Then the little Charmander crawled atop Oakenshield’s head and added his tiny paw to perform the same motion.

 

Bilbo may or may not have cooed again.

 

Just a little.

 

Which was met by all three of them—Oakenshield and his pokemon—turning to face Bilbo with identical expressions of befuddlement. Like not a single one of them could imagine why in the world he would make that noise when it had already gotten him in trouble.

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it!”

 

Oakenshield actually managed to pull off a glower this time. “You can’t help being snide about my pokemon?” He demanded.

 

Even Bilbo’s Togepi was so stunned that he dropped the shield. “Snide? What am I being snide about?”

 

“You keep laughing at my pokemon!”

 

“I’m not laughing at your pokemon—”

 

“So you’re laughing at me instead?”

 

“I’m not laughing at anything! You’re all adorable!”

 

Oakenshield stuttered to a stop. “What?”

 

Bilbo blushed like an autumn apple. “The three of you are adorable.” He shrugged. “You’re all big, and formidable, and scary, but then you keep giving cuddles to your little fire pokemon. It’s adorable. I makes me want to give the three of you scones and join… in.” Bilbo didn’t mean for that last bit to come out, but with Oakenshield just _staring_ at him, he couldn’t make himself stop talking. He just kept going in the hope that maybe Oakenshield would just. stop. looking at him.

 

“Join in?”

 

And of course that was the thing Oakenshield focused on. He couldn’t make things simple and comment on being called adorable, or how he had a fire pokemon when most Dwarves didn’t. Golden-hair popped up beside Bilbo and met him with quite possibly the most terrifying smirk Bilbo had ever encountered. “What my brother means, is that perhaps you and he got off on the wrong foot. Thorin happens to be a suspicious lout, and can’t imagine that there’s any trainer in the world who would think well of him.”

 

“But he’s Thorin Oakenshield!” Bilbo exclaimed, like that was all the explanation he needed. And to him, it was.

 

“But you’re Bilbo Baggins.” Thorin interrupted. “You burned your way through the Elite Four with nothing but that Meloetta and a [Herdier](http://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:507Herdier.png) that was so old I was surprised it could still walk.”

 

“The Herdier was my father’s. And, I had other pokemon on my person, I just… I turned out not to need them.” Bilbo shrugged his way through the explanation, ingoring the part of his mind that screamed that Thorin knew who he was, that Thorin it seemed at watched his battle with the Elite Four and thought he’d done well.

 

Thorin watched him for a long moment, and with every moment that Thorin’s eyes were onhis, Bilbo blushed even more. Not nearly soon enough, Thorin’s face broke in to a grin. “I do believe my brother was right. Thorin Oakenshield at your service, Mr. Baggins.” He dropped in to a polite bow, looking up at Bilbo through unfairly long dark lashes that made his blue eyes almost glow.

 

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours.”


End file.
